Random thoughts from a carpetbagger living in the Great Republic of Texas

Wednesday, December 3, 2014

Where's Lassie When You Need Her?

As I had mentioned in a previous post,
we recently moved again. During the first few weeks in the new
house, a multitude of workers came and went fixing this and that or
turning on utilities. One day, when I wasn't expecting anyone, I
answered the door where an older woman waited.

"Hello," she said, "I'm
your new neighbor. Sorry to meet like this, but do you have a grey
dog? I just saw a grey dog I hadn't seen before running down the
street."

"Oh that's impossible," I
said. "He's locked in the fence in the backyard. I'll double
check. Thanks for asking."

I walked through the backyard only to
find no sign of Bo. I then ran to the front yard and wandered down
the street. About three houses down, I saw a grey blur darting
through a backyard. Luckily he stopped when I called his name, and I
carried him home.

I inspected the backyard and noticed
that the fence gates won't close completely unless you turn the
handle while closing the gate. Some visiting worker must have left
the gate open. From then on, I inspected the gates after workers
left.

A couple of weeks later, we acquired a
new puppy named Bonny. Her energy overwhelmed all of us including
Bo. Bonny definitely believed she had the job of pack leader and
couldn't tolerate Bo getting any attention.

One day as dusk fell, I realized I
hadn't seen Bo in a while. I walked through the backyard and found
no trace of him. I checked the gates, but they were all secure.

"Looks like Bo got out again,"
I told St. Pauli Girl. "We must have a hole in the fence
somewhere."

We wandered through the neighborhood
then drove around in the car but could not find him and at that point
it would have been difficult to see our grey dog in the dark. I
walked with Bonny through the backyard one last time hoping she might
provide a clue. But she never left my side, and Bo never responded
to my calls. We finally gave up and hoped someone had taken him in
for the night.

The next morning I wandered around the
yard hoping Bo had come back to the gate. Once again, there was no
sign of him. I went out through the garage, ventured down the
driveway but came up empty. As I walked up the driveway, I glanced
at the well-house in the backyard and noticed a board sticking up out
of the roof.

"Oh no!" I thought as I ran
to the backyard.

Our well-house is a brick shed built
into the side of a hill. The entrance is on top and drops down about
eight feet. Unfortunately, the hinges on the door had rusted away,
and the opening now was simply a board on top of the hole, and the
well inspectors had failed to secure it with the bricks that had been
on top.

I ran to the top of the well-house and
pulled out the board that had been sticking out of the opening. I
peered down and sure enough, Bo stood there looking up at me. Then
he ran around a bit so I knew he wasn't hurt.

"Really Bo?" I said. "You
couldn't have barked?"

He wagged his tail.

I went back to the house to get St.
Pauli Girl and a flashlight. I would need help to pull Bo out, and I
wanted to make sure I could see what I was climbing down into as the
well-house seemed like a great home for snakes and scorpions.

I climbed down the ladder into the
well-house, grabbed Bo and hoisted him up and out to St. Pauli Girl
who gave the hungry dog a treat. Then I made sure I secured the top
as best I could although I doubted Bo would ever run across it again.
Bo survived the ordeal just fine.

Later that day, I played fetch with
Bonny. She would fetch the ball then show it to Bo as if to
demonstrate her superiority before she returned the ball to me.

"You sure weren't much help last
night," I told her. "You're no Lassie."

She looked up at me and wagged her
tail. She had a gleam in her eye; she definitely liked being top
dog. Then I started to wonder, "Hmmm, maybe Bo was pushed?"

Bonnie would probably enjoy water torture. I turned on the sprinkler today for 30 minutes; when I came outside, Bo was perfectly dry and Bonnie was soaked and muddy and promptly jumped up planting her muddy paws on me. Thanks for the comment!

About Me

I live in a small town in Texas. I am the real America. I wasn't born in the republic which means I'm not really Texan. I do have a pickup truck but since it's a Nissan, I'm still not considered Texan. I only drive it when no one is looking. I'm a man without a country and a man without a car. I'm an entrepreneur but not a good one as I recently had to close down the family restaurant. But that makes me an economic expert. I can seriously blame the restaurant's closing on Obama, Cheney, NAFTA, Cash for Clunkers, TARP and even Bernie Madoff who never spent millions in my restaurant. Not even a dime.